


A Delicate Situation

by dorothydonne



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alpha!John, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Anal Sex, First Time, M/M, Omega!Mycroft, Omegaverse, PWP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-22
Updated: 2012-02-22
Packaged: 2017-10-31 13:59:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/344810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dorothydonne/pseuds/dorothydonne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I'm sorry to call you here, John, but I'm sure you can understand I'm in a bit of a predicament."</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Delicate Situation

**Author's Note:**

> This is an Omegaverse fic with John as the alpha and Mycroft as the omega, since I roll like that. If you don't know what Omegaverse is, [Mazarin221b explains it very well right here.](http://mazarin221b.tumblr.com/post/13225087865/sounding-dumb-but-what-is-an-omegaverse)

John paused in front of the door, torn. His most basic instinct was to move in the direction of the omega whose scent he was picking up. It was faint, but it still drew him in. Even though he didn’t necessarily want to find and mate with a total stranger, he wanted to at least tell the person to get indoors before someone indecent took advantage. But then again, he may have been tempted if he got too close. He pushed back the urge to search and instead pushed open the door to the Diogenes Club.

Mycroft had called him an hour ago, saying he had a "delicate medical situation" that required the immediate attention of a “discrete professional.” He said he trusted John to treat him, but he hadn't told the doctor exactly what was wrong. After repeatedly being assured that it wasn't a matter of life or death, John had agreed to meet Mycroft at the club as soon as he and Sherlock finished on a case.

Mycroft hadn't been able to send a car; his assistant was unreachable for whatever reason. When the older man had explained this, he’d sounded rather bitter. John wondered if that was a sign of dire things to come, but he didn't question Mycroft's judgement further. 

The smell was stronger inside the club and John found himself fighting between his oath as a doctor and his primal urges. His body was responding to the potent omega pheromones in the air, but he trudged on, making is way toward Mycroft's private office and wishing with everything that the smell would fade. He didn't exactly want to greet his flatmate's elder brother with a raging erection. It was indecent. 

It wasn't until he was standing outside Mycroft's office door and contemplating tearing his own clothes off and rutting against the nearest surface (armchair, four feet away) that he realized with a jolt exactly what the medical situation had to be. 

But no. Why would Mycroft call him?

"John?" Mycroft said on the other side of the door. His voice was low, almost nervous. 

_I'd be nervous, too, if I was in heat in an unlocked building with my pheromones blasting every which way_ , John thought. The parallel thought was a resounding chorus of _Mine, mine_. 

"Yes." John found it was going to be difficult to say much more than short, clipped sentences. The smell seeping through the door was making him almost lightheaded with desire. The number of times he had been so close to an omega in heat numbered at two, and both times were in the presence of the omega’s alpha. The temptation hadn’t been as strong as it was now, in the same five-foot radius as an unbonded, positively savory omega. On the other side of the door, that body called out to him. He adjusted himself in his trousers to give himself more room to grow and immediately put his hands in his coat pockets. 

"I'm sorry to call you here, John, but I'm sure you can understand I'm in a bit of a predicament." 

John didn't understand how Mycroft could string together an entire sentence, let alone use four-syllable words. The air was so thick outside the door. The alpha wondered if he'd be able to taste it on the other side. 

He was suddenly overwhelmed with the urge to press his tongue into the slim crevice between the door and the wall. 

He stepped back. 

"And you want me to... You." John stopped and abruptly cleared his throat. His body was telling him exactly what he was here to do, but his brain was trying to rationalize it. Maybe Mycroft knew of a medicinal way to suppress a heat that John didn't know about. Some kind of government trial or something. Something not on the shelves yet for the general public. Something that didn’t involve Peg A repeatedly penetrating Slot B without mercy for the next three days.

It would have been amazing, of course, but surely Mycroft didn't expect John to breed him. That couldn't possibly....

"I am normally much more in tune with my body," Mycroft explained, calmly, from the other side of the door. At the word "body," John's pulse quickened and his mind flared with imaginings of what Mycroft would look like without a suit. His imagination, however, left the other man with a tie hanging loose around his neck, red silk standing in contrast with his pale skin.

John bit back a groan as Mycroft continued. 

"There is a delicate situation with an ambassador from France. I found myself too distracted to notice that the heat had come on until it was too late to leave safely." He paused.

 _He wants me to help him leave_ , John thought, ready to kick himself for even thinking that Mycroft might want him. He’d kick himself even harder if Mycroft caught sight of the bulge in his trousers, though surely the man on the other side of the door knew the effect he was having on the alpha outside.

"I managed to evacuate the club on my own, but surely you can understand why it wouldn't be safe for me on the street right now, and as I said on the phone, I'm unable to reach Anthea."

 _It's not safe for you in this hallway, let alone on the street_ , John's inner monologue mused darkly. 

"So you want me to help you get home?" John wondered if he'd called Sherlock first and his brother had denied him. That would've been the sensible thing to do. While being around a sibling in heat could be uncomfortable entirely because of the scent, Sherlock was completely uninterested in mating and wouldn't have a single bodily reaction to the pheromones. 

"No, John, I'd like you to come in."

John's fingers were turning the knob before he could even think about it.

Locked. 

John wanted to break down the door, but he fisted his hands in his pockets and stepped back again. He'd always hated the cave man instinct that was usually buried away in the back of his mind. Even so, it had rushed up to the forefront the second he'd smelled an omega in the vicinity and now all he wanted was to bend Mycroft over the nearest piece of furniture and bury himself as deeply as physical limitations would allow. 

"I thought perhaps I should explain some things first," Mycroft said from the other side. John didn't understand how the other man could be so calm with his heat making itself known so glaringly. It was like someone was pumping pheromones through the vents. Maybe he was used to it, maybe John wasn't. The older man should have been wanting to impale himself on a table lamp by now, for God's sake. John only knew because he was about ready to start trying to impregnate the gap between the cushions on the armchair across the hall. 

"I have never mated before," Mycroft said. He may as well have been reading John's mind, but that very mind clicked off for a moment with the overwhelming pride at having gotten to Mycroft first. It felt like a victory, a singularly important conquest even though he was being invited to take him the same way one might invite another to dinner. "I cannot be impregnated, so there is no child to worry about. I simply require the... sexual urges be filled in order to end the heat. I would normally be capable of fulfilling them myself--" 

John clenched his teeth, grinding them. His mind was whirring with images of Mycroft penetrating himself with a myriad of toys, all shapes and sizes, all with weak, air-inflated knots to bring on that release. He didn't like them at all; he didn't like the knowledge that Mycroft had been doing this on his own for his entire adult life--or even the amount of time that they'd known each other--when John had been so close. They could've been satisfying each other all this time. 

"I hope you understand that I don't do this lightly." 

It was only then John realized that while his hormone-addled brain had been arguing with itself and admonishing their respective pasts, Mycroft had possibly been laying down terms and conditions for their tryst. Was this a one-time bond? Would Mycroft really never want to do it again after experiencing it? John had never mated before, but he assumed there was a reason why most alphas stayed with their first omegas. 

True, John had never thought of Mycroft as a potential bond, but surely that was because the man was his infuriating flatmate's brother. He acknowledged that Mycroft was an attractive man. Though he couldn't remember it now--he could barely remember his own name--he was sure he had thought it at some point or another. He'd also never known that the man was an omega. High-ranking government officials (whether they identified themselves as such or no) were very rarely omegas because once one started breeding, children began to overtake their lives.

Of course, if Mycroft had somehow managed to eliminate the reproduction part of his heat (and that's probably where the government test trials came into play), he didn't have to worry about being an omega, as long as his heats didn't interfere. 

Which, obviously, they sometimes did. Now, for instance.

"John, in a moment, I'm going to open the door," Mycroft said from the other side. "If you are opposed to this, please let me know now."

There was no part of the doctor that was opposed. In fact, had he been a wolf, he was sure he would've reared back on his haunches, ready to launch himself into the room as soon as the door opened even a fraction. 

"You may want to just unlock it and move away," John said, mentally adding "and take off all your clothes before I rip them to shreds." He just couldn't bring himself to say it aloud so crudely, even with his brain as fuzzy and unfiltered as it was. A solution: "Take off your clothes, unlock the door, and step back. I'm going to come back in five minutes."

Without waiting for an answer, John walked away. He turned at the end of the hall and found a window he could crack open. It was a bad idea, releasing the heady pheromones from the building and out onto the street, but in a few minutes, it would be clear to any unmated passerby exactly who that unpaired omega belonged to. 

_Oh God_ , John thought. _What if we both regret this after? And what will we do about food?_ He knew people who locked themselves away for days during a heat. Surely it wasn't possible that Mycroft would be sated after a single round. John doubted he would be, if the current state of his body was any indication. He wanted nothing more--couldn't remember ever wanting anything else--than to bury himself inside of Mycroft and work them both toward an explosive coupling, over and over for days. His mouth watered imagining the way he was going to sink his teeth into the other man's neck as the climax overtook him. 

Without checking to see how long it had been, he moved back toward the room. Every step found him shutting down his brain further, giving in to his most basic instincts. His body was ready, Mycroft's was certainly ready, and he wasn't going to stop until they'd had each other over every surface in the building. Maybe twice.

He started shedding his clothes at one end of the hall and finally kicked off his pants just outside Mycroft's private room.

The door offered no resistance when he pushed forward, and John barely remembered the next few moments, even days later. It was the work of only a few steps to get to Mycroft, to bury is face in the side of the other man's bare neck and breathe deeply. Before either of them had time to let a second thought flitter through their brains, John had turned the other man around and pressed him against the back of the chair closest to the door. 

Mycroft didn't protest when John pressed his naked body against him, didn't complain when the smaller man forced his legs apart so he'd shrink down to his level. And when the head of John's cock slipped inside him with an explicit _pop_ , the sound that tore from both their throats was nothing but unadulterated pleasure mingling with a clearly articulated desire for more. 

"Oh, God," John groaned and gripped Mycroft's hips as he slid home. And that was really what it was--home. All 37 years of his life had brought him to this, to this perfect, wet heat that sucked him in inch by agonizingly glorious inch. 

"Fuck, Mycroft." He couldn't ever remember cursing in front of the older man, and he knew from the way Sherlock baited him that the elder Holmes had his sensibilities, but he couldn't stop the words. It felt like--"You were made for this, Mycroft," John gasped. He drew back a few times, pressing back with shallow thrusts of his hips before drawing out almost completely and then sliding home over and over. He wanted to go deeper; wanted to show the other man that he couldn't do this on his own ever again. It had to be that obscene level of pleasure that was coursing through his own veins. "You were made for me to fill you." 

He demonstrated his words by nudging the taller man's legs further apart and pinning him forward against the chair. There were so many different sensations to take in: the feel of Mycroft's deepest heat welcoming him and stimulating his length from every direction, the smell of sex, hanging pungent in the air and getting stronger with each thrust into the omega's waiting body. And he couldn't deny himself the taste of Mycroft's skin, the way his tongue traced the other man’s spine, those freckles that were slightly glossed with a sheen of sweat. Of course, above all the physical sensation were the sounds: the dirty slap of flesh as their bodies met, the pants and sighs that harmonized with their movements. It was overwhelming, but gorgeously fluid. 

John wondered how he'd gone so long without an omega. He'd had sex, of course, but sex with betas was hardly as world-changingly satisfying. The hormones didn't synchronize so perfectly, and John couldn't imagine ever doing this with anyone other than an omega again. Anyone other than _his_ omega. 

Neither of them spoke for a long stretch of time, lost in the almost violent in and out glide of John's cock. In reality, their entire coupling was likely an embarrassingly short period of time, but considering it was the first time for either of them, it was practically an extended session. When John's base began to flare, insistently pulling him deeper inside Mycroft's eager body, both of them cried out at the heavy sensation. John's hips surged upwards at the same moment that Mycroft thrust back, each seeking more from the other, each willing to give.

Strong arms wrapped around the omega's body and pulled him back, holding their bodies so closely together that they were pressed skin-to-skin from the hips up. John rested his forehead where Mycroft's shoulder blades separated and groaned as his knot further filled his lover's body. 

"You've never had a real cock before," John grunted, and the words punctuated each short pump of his hips as sliding in and out became harder. But he wasn't going to stop, not when there was so much riding on proving to Mycroft that this was what he needed. This was what he had been missing--what they'd both been missing. "I'm going to fill you, Mycroft. Fill you and plug you so thoroughly, you'll never be able to satisfy yourself again." 

Mycroft groaned and John grazed his teeth none too gently along one of his shoulders. 

"You're going to crave me, my cock." John gripped the curve of Mycroft's hip with his right hand and splayed the fingers of his left across Mycroft's stomach. "No one else. You'll never find someone else who will fit you like I do. You were made to knot with me, only me." 

Mycroft's body clamped down on him in agreement and John catapulted toward his orgasm, trying feebly to keep moving, just a bit deeper, one more thrust--until his knot fully expanded with a burst of sparks behind his eyes. Mycroft's body drew him in greedily and the omega cried out, pushing back and circling his hips as his body took all John had to offer. 

"Fucking Christ," John gasped. His body sagged and shuddered with the force of his orgasm, and it was several moments before he was able to breathe more than a ragged gasp. As Mycroft's body continued to work him, he leaned back to look down at their joined bodies. He hadn't thought to look down the entire time. Now he regretted it, though perhaps it was for the best that he hadn't done it the first time; the sight of his cock buried to the hilt may have undone him too soon. 

He looked back up at Mycroft's shoulders and saw an angry, red crescent on his left shoulder. Another shiver ran through him when he realized he'd bitten Mycroft as the first tremors of his climax had ripped through him. Gingerly, he ran his fingers along the red indentations, though there was a part of him that was screaming "Mine, mine" and praising him for marking the other man so. 

"I... I wouldn't be averse to laying down," Mycroft said several moments later. His voice was thick and gave away an air of exhaustion. John knew it was only temporary, but if they could get into a comfortable position for their brief respite, it was probably for the best.

After some careful maneuvering, they settled on the carpet, Mycroft the little spoon in the equation. John wrapped an arm around Mycroft's waist out of instinct, though he knew that the soft skin of his stomach would never curve and stretch as a result of their mating. But he also knew that this knowledge didn't make what they'd done any less significant. 

Mycroft wouldn't see the sentimentality of it, of course. He'd probably want to go back to the way he'd been before: A solitary omega who knew how to properly please himself and end his heat. But John didn't want that. He hoped he had more time to prove that he was a better lover than a drawer of sex toys; that a warm body could please more thoroughly than a bit of silicone and a pair of batteries. 

They lay like that for a while, John's cock occasionally being gripped by Mycroft's inner walls in a way that made his eyes roll back in his head and his hips push forward helplessly. It was nearly an hour of near-silent, exquisite torture before their bond had settled and John's cock, spent, slowly slid from the other man's entrance.

Mycroft was the first to move, though he didn't immediately head for his clothes the way John expected him to. Instead, he sat up and turned toward John. 

"I'll be ready again soon," he said, matter-of-factly. He turned his wrist and checked his watch, scowling at it in distaste. John wondered if the look was for him, but when Mycroft raised his eyes, they were bright, almost mischievous. "As I'm sure you're aware, I'm not stocked here for a days-long sequester." He paused and looked around the room as if he was proving his words to himself.

Already, John could smell the pheromones, the pure need radiating off of Mycroft's delectably naked form. And John, of course, focused in on the "days-long" part of that sentence. He licked his lips, eyeing Mycroft up and down without even trying to hide his gaze.

"I'll try to get Anthea in a while. I may be able to arrange a car with a beta driver," he explained, though his face was beginning to flush with the same arousal John had failed to make note of when he'd entered the room. "I hope you'll find it agreeable that I'd like you to... go home with me."

John blinked for a moment. Mycroft's sentences felt too advanced for the simple question the man was veiling: will you come home with me and pound me into the mattress, walls, and floors for the next 48 to 72 hours?

Of course the answer was yes. 

What would happen after was up in the air, since there was quite a bit of awkwardness that could settle in after a heat between two people who would otherwise not mate. But who was to say they wouldn't still want each other?

For now, though, John wanted Mycroft. Again. From the looks of it, the feeling was mutual. Mycroft’s body was practically thrilling with pleasure before John even extended a hand to touch him. When his hand finally rested on the other man’s chest, the heat was marvelously electric.

This time, John laid his partner down on the floor and settled between his legs. As his cock pressed back into that tight heat for a second time, he felt like he was receiving a present he'd been hoping to get. It felt like winning. He leaned forward and breathed deeply against Mycroft's throat before scraping his teeth over his collarbone. 

"How do you feel about kissing?" He could've just taken a kiss, thrust his tongue into those thin lips the way he was invading the other man's body one pump of his hips at a time. Somehow, though, a kiss felt more intimate than the deep touching going on on the lower halves of their bodies.

"Yes." It wasn't an answer to the question as John had asked it, but the way Mycroft arched his neck and parted his lips in a searching gesture said "invitation" to John. He lifted one of Mycroft's knees to give him a better angle, which caused him to press against something inside the omega that made them both moan just as John's mouth covered his. 

Their teeth knocked together when they got too ambitious with each other, and John's tongue may have been a bit too wet for a moment or two, but once they figured out who needed to lean which way, it was perfect. The gentle pressure of lips on lips and tongue on tongue and teeth was nearly equally stimulating to the thrusting below.

It was starting to become shallow and unfocused again without John even noticing. He felt the base of his cock expanding, pressing into Mycroft's body for the second time that evening. He knew he was spouting out nonsense, but it wasn't until Mycroft gasped against his open mouth and cried out his name that John felt even closer to climax. 

"Yours, yes, always," Mycroft muttered against his lips. He was arching his back and bearing down at the same time that John was trying to get deeper into that welcoming hole. "Fill me, John. Yours." Perfectly manicured fingernails scraped down his back as John lost control, his body stilling as his cock pulsed in thick streams deep inside his lover's body.

Mycroft's stomach was trembling under John's fingers, and a light trail of warm fluid met him when he gently ran his hand over the other man’s navel. 

John collapsed on top of him, sated for the moment, careful to distribute his weight comfortably. Inside Mycroft, the walls were still holding John's member tightly, working him over and over, practically stroking the head of his cock to milk him dry. 

He raised his head from Mycroft's neck and looked up at that flushed face, that disheveled hair, and he could already imagine the mayhem they'd get up to in the next few days. John knew exactly the ways he wanted to have him; the things he wanted to see the government official do. But he didn't want to talk about those things now. Instead, he took the calm moment and reached up to cup Mycroft's face in his palm.

"I'd say that was worth waiting for," John said. Sherlock would have tore him a new one for the sentimentality, but it was entirely true. If Mycroft invited him into his bed the next time he went into heat--whether three months or six months or five years from now--John would say the same thing. 

And while Mycroft could have scoffed the way his brother would have, or rolled his eyes and told John he was just a convenient acquaintance, the other man simply closed his eyes, pressed his cheek closer to the touch of the alpha's hand, and nodded.

* * *

Six months later, John was waiting.

He knew the call would come soon. Sherlock had been commenting on Mycroft's recent weight gain, and John had noticed the faint change in Mycroft's scent the last time he'd visited the flat over a week ago. The heat was coming on, but slowly. Almost painfully so.

The doctor had just settled into bed at 221B when his phone alerted him to a text message. His phone was in his hand and the text message was open before he had a chance to blink: _I have a delicate matter that requires your medical expertise. - MH_

Still clad in his pyjamas, he rushed out the door into the February cold three and a half minutes later. He'd just gotten into the escort car when he received another text message: _Please burn your pyjamas and have the decency to shower (alone) at least a dozen times before returning. - SH_

With a smirk, John made a mental note to bring home a souvenir.


End file.
